


all that exists underground

by aiineslin



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, death godlike - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiineslin/pseuds/aiineslin
Summary: “What ye said up there to Furrante. What ye said to the Wahakis, Atsura at the Brass Citadel. That’s a lot of powerful names to keep danglin’. Ye best not be fuckin’ around, Cap.”The Watcher grinned.-Serafen and the Watcher at Crookspur.





	all that exists underground

**Author's Note:**

> i had my watcher agree to furrante's quest and purchase eliam - and what struck me was that even though serafen raised a huge stink, his approval of my watcher never dropped. as always, i apologise for my bad writing.

The trip to the Waveskipper from Balefire Beacon was conducted in tense, electric silence.

For once, Tekehu and Maia were in accord; they kept themselves away from the Watcher who trotted ahead briskly, arms swinging by her side.

As always, Eder was smoking, padding a few feet behind Eli and keeping a measured distance from Tekehu and Maia.

Serafen had been walking alongside the aumaua duo, but now he sped up as the first buildings of Lifter’s Refuge drew into view, attempting to overtake Eder.

“Got something to say to her?” Eder’s drawl cut through the air, the first words anybody had said in a while.

“Ye know damn well what I want to say.”

“Hm.”

Serafen noted how Eder nibbled at the worn wood of his pipe, how the man rested a big hand lightly on his sabre.

“If I wanted to stick a sword in her, I’d do it at night, all quiet-like,” snarled Serafen, raising his voice into a shout. “Oy, Cap! Ye heard that! If I wanted to stab ye, I’d do it at night!”

“Could think of better things for you to do to me at night,” chirped Eli, and Eder let out a startled laugh, sucking smoke down the wrong airway and prompting a massive coughing fit, the large man doubling over as he choked on the smoke.

“Ye deserve that,” snapped Serafen as he swept past Eder – Ondra’s tits, he’d known the man for half a year, and the human really thought he was _this_ disloyal?

Eli had slowed her gait, and she was waiting for him patiently, fingers tapping a soundless beat on the side of her tunic. As he drew level with her, she said, “Do you have something to say to me, Serafen?”

“Yes.” And that was why he now stood beside Eli, thumbs hooked into his belt and pretending they didn’t have an audience loitering in the background, an audience who was studiously pretending they could not hear the conversation.  

(Why his swords were still in his belt. Why he kept his mind away from Eli’s, because the only time he reached out was when he mistrusted someone, or wanted to wage battle.)

When smiling came so easy to a person, it was hard to frown, but frown he did – a thundercloud gathering in the furrows drawn between his brows. “What ye said up there to Furrante. What ye said to the Wahakis, Atsura at the Brass Citadel. That’s a lot of powerful names to keep danglin’. Ye best not be fuckin’ around, Cap.”

The Watcher grinned.

*

That was the thing about Death Godlikes. You could never tell what they were thinking.

*

“Funny,” said stinking Master Kua, he of the oiled-down furs and carefully trimmed goatee, the first time he saw Eli. “What does a Death Godlike want with another Death Godlike?”

Eli had smiled, quietly and slowly, revealing teeth stained yellow from the pipe. “That be for me to know.”

Master Kua nodded once, sharply and precisely. “True. Well. The price you had bought him at was 1200 coppers, so -”

“Are ye fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” He had not quite meant for the outburst to be so loud, or so shrill.

Eli’s head tilted slightly in his direction, the only indication she was listening, but Master Kua’s gaze was drawn sharp as an arrow to Serafen, and the orlan allowed his top lip to curl with distaste. “Furrante was right. You have strange tastes.”

“The strangest,” acknowledged Eli, and Serafen was about to draw his swords when –

The familiar burst of electric blue mind-blades erupted from the Eli’s hands, flashing soundlessly towards Master Kua, who had enough presence of mind and agility to dive behind the table.

“Traitor!” shouted the slaver, sounding significantly less composed.

“Traitor!” parroted Eli happily, and they were in battle, familiar as sea-salt on his tongue and grog in his belly.

*

The dungeons stank.

He kenned such scents.

(Eight years old, penned up in a cage too small to contain ten orlan children. The dank smell of stained fur, neglect and suffering. Wrists rubbed raw from the thick ropes that held them together. His front canine was loose from a slap delivered by the slaver, and he tongued at it every so often, just to feel it wobble and shake.)

The guards were on high alert since the warning horn had sounded, but what were slavers to a _really_ sneaky Watcher and her crew? Big Eder could move soft as a cat and even Maia could use a sword when she had to.

They fell easily enough, and Eli liberated the master key to the cells from a particularly large and loathsome troll.

They found the Wahakis first. It was Eli who recognised Bauha. Exceptionally tall, exceptionally well-muscled, a tiger restlessly pacing circles in her cage.

“Aparo’s sister,” said Eli. “Your ranga bade me to come here.”

Bauha pressed her face against the bars of the cell, baring her teeth. “Did you leave any?” _For us_ , the unsaid, hungry words followed.

Eli smiled, held up the key. Bauha’s gaze followed the Watcher’s movement, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes.”

 _Click_ , went the lock, and Eli swung open the door, allowing it to squeal and shriek. The Wahaki in the cell stirred, their once sluggardly movements sparking with new life.

“Good hunting,” said Eli, and she pointed them to the fallen corpses of the dungeon guards. “I only cleaned out the slavers in the fort. There are still guards and customers left in the courtyard and ramparts.”

Bauha laughed, short and harsh and ugly. “Good hunting.” With that, she turned, and her men and women followed her, their grips tight around their new weapons.  

“Should we follow them?” said Maia, running a thumb over the trigger of her arquebus.

Above them, filtered through stone and soil, came shouts and screams and the familiar _boom_ of a Chanter’s summon arriving from other-worldly dimensions.

“No,” said Eli, tossing the key into the air. “Let them work that energy out. Oh, euch –”

Her hand shot out, trying to catch the key but it slipped and tumbled from her grasping fingers, only to land right in Serafen’s waiting hands. He pressed it into her hand, taking care to brush his calloused palm against hers as he pulled away.

“Thank you,” said Eli, smiling. Her crooked teeth gleamed in the guttering lamp-light.

“No prob, Cap,” growled Serafen. “Now let’s get those remaining slaves home.”

*

Things were tied up swiftly enough.

The Waveskipper rang with celebration that night; the Watcher had broken out a few particularly tasty bottles of wine, and Birta had taken the initiative to cook up a heavy meal without prompting.

The new crew-member – Eliam, his name was, Serafen remembered – had peeked into the kitchen where Birta was working, and had came away, the grey skin under his godlike mask looking distinctly more washed out.

“What Birta does,” Tekehu had intoned, sidling beside Eliam, one friendly hand slipping around the Death Godlike’s broad shoulders. “Is for her to know, and not for us mere mortals. We know that the many moons spent on this ship has sharpened her cooking skills, and we give thanks to Ngati for that. We do not question Ngati’s blessings, or try to make sense of them.” He blinked, smiling at Eliam. “Would you like me to introduce you to our little crew?”

“Please,” said Eliam, his voice weak.

“Oh, you really must forget what happened in the kitchen if you want to eat anything on this ship,” said Tekehu, his friendly grasp tightening slightly. “I really can see why they would call you Handsome Eliam. Mm-hmm.”

And with that, he had taken Eliam away to meet Chiputec and Riggere, his friendly arm around the shoulder ever-present.

Whatever Tekehu had said to Eliam in the hour or so before the celebratory dinner must have calmed the Godlike down somewhat, for he was able to swallow Birta’s offerings, though Serafen heard him mutter, “How can this taste so good when _that_ happened.”, as he worked on a particularly tasty bit of chicken.

The party wound down in the wee hours of the morning.

A skeleton crew of four sober sailors – chosen via the time-honoured, ever-equal method of drawing straws – paced the decks, checking ropes, keeping an eye on the empty horizon and one hand on the till.

The Watcher sat at the very stern of the ship, fingers doing the tarantella on the wooden hull. She was looking outwards, at the black expanse of the still sea when Serafen sat down beside her, crossing his legs as he did so.

“Cap,” said Serafen.

“Serafen,” acknowledged Eli.

“Light for you?” A fire-striker appeared in his hand as if by magic.

“Oh,” she said, startled. And then she smiled, and drew her pipe from the depths of her clothes. “Let’s share this, then.”

For a few companionably silent moments, they sat beside each other, alternating puffs from the Eli’s small pipe.

“It’s been a long day,” Serafen finally broke the silence. “Why aren’t ye snorin’ in yer bunk?”

“Why aren’t _you_?” Eli shot back mildly, smoke furling from her nostrils like a dragon. “I’ve seen you down at least four pints of beer.”

“Now, now, Cap. I ain’t no light-weight.”

Eli snorted, and she moved closer to Serafen. A night wind had risen, nipping sharply at their faces.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.” Her answer was short. She scrubbed the palms of her hands against each other, refusing to look down at Serafen.

“Could help ye out with that.”

You could not see a Death Godlike’s eyes, covered as they were by those protrusions that grew over their flesh. Lucky for Serafen that the right side of Eli’s head carapace was shattered, revealing one, bright, questioning eye.

“I recall a fuzzy blue orlan telling me he’d never been with a godlike before.”

“A handsome blue orlan who is exceptionally skilled with his tongue,” corrected Serafen. He sucked deeply from the pipe and blew a series of smoke rings into the sky. “Well, he’s lookin’ to change that now.”

“It would make a fun story to tell his pals,” said Eli.

“Naw,” said Serafen, covering Eli’s cold hands with his own. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Hm.” Eli tilted her head in that very familiar way of hers. And then she nodded to herself, and rose to her feet in one fluid motion, yanking Serafen up from his seat as she did so.

She gripped Serafen’s free hand with uncommon tightness, and he let her hold him, let her dig her blunt nails into his skin.

One, two, three seconds passed by – and she released Serafen’s hand, reaching out to run a gentle thumb along his chin. “Bring the lash while you’re at it, will you?”

And Serafen laughed, a big, belly-aching laugh, and he lifted her hand to his lips and said, “I am but yer humble an’ obedient servant, Cap.”


End file.
